Windows

The first time I slept here,

I fell in love with the view from your window—

The church steeple rising into the morning sun, your black cat curled at my feet.

"Mi Amore," you whispered, kissing my shoulder.

We did not speak when I left town;

There was little to say.

You did not love me—

Alas, the unrequited.

But to be back in your bed, the warmth of your skin on mine—

I told you I felt like Billy Pilgrim, unstuck in time.

You said you felt like Dante, descending.

You brushed the hair from my face,

Kissed my eyelids,

"Mi Amore."

How I longed for those words to mean more.

I try not to linger on fantasies,

but there’s something about this window.

I fell in love with the view,

And mistook it for being in love with you.

Alas, the unrequited.

I wish I had met you sooner;

I know there’s something there.

All of time could pass in this moment,

Staring out your window.

"Mi Amore," I whisper, as you sleep.

Alas... the unrequited.